


Dreams of Rising

by Hecate



Category: DC Extended Universe, Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Canon-Typical Violence, Captivity, Complicated Relationships, Developing Relationship, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma, mentions of torture, slightly unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-07-23 03:36:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20001697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hecate/pseuds/Hecate
Summary: After Midway City, GQ ends up in captivity. He doesn't deal well with it. And the aftermath isn't any easier.





	Dreams of Rising

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wallflowering](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wallflowering/gifts).



The lights surrounding him are bright, brighter than any other GQ has ever seen before. It hurts to look at them.

Everything hurts.

~*~

They captured him after he activated the bomb in Midway City. Pulled him out of the water and pushed him into a hole masquerading as a prison cell. Locked the door and never said a word to him.

They bring him out sometimes to cut him open for a reason they never tell him. Maybe it's because of Midway City, maybe they think he was one of the monsters running through the streets and this is how he survived the blast. Or maybe they do it just because they can.

GQ doesn't know how much time has passed since the bomb and the monsters and Rick trying to save the world and his crazy girlfriend along with it.

He has no idea where he is.

Midway City is a bad memory.

Reality is hell.

~*~

GQ is hungry. He thinks he has been for a while, the feeling growing sharper until it wasn't quite hunger anymore but something meaner. It fills him up like food would, fills up his mind and sets it on fire.

He can't stop thinking about it.

Can't stop thinking about the pain.

When they will come for him again.

When this will be over.

~*~

He sleeps in fits and seconds, time breaking apart, the days uncountable in the never-changing dimness of his cell. There are no windows, just a flickering light-bulb nearing its death, and the light creates shadows that dance along the walls. GQ hates it, the flickers a knife to his nerves, the sound a buzzing fly he can't ignore.

He hates it and it won't go away, won't stop, and he still sees it with his eyes closed, and he still hears it with his ears covered. It's there, and it won't go away, and it feels as if the pain thrums in harmony with it. And GQ can't take it anymore.

He gets up from the dirty mattress he sleeps on, and he throws a cup at the bulb. It shatters with a satisfying sound, the cup hitting the floor and breaking on impact.

For a while, the darkness is a relief and the silence is a promise.

~*~

They don't give him anything to drink for a while.

Maybe it's supposed to be a punishment for his little act of rebellion.

Maybe they just forgot about him.

GQ is too thirsty to care about any of it.

~*~

He sees Rick standing in the middle of the cell. He knows it's not true, knows that it's just a hallucination, but for a few seconds, he gives in. For a few seconds, he lets himself believe that they would come for him.

But he isn't a marine.

No one has ever promised him to not leave him behind.

~*~

They pull him out of his cell again, pull him out and chain him down.

He tries to fight them.

Can't.

Thinks he hears them laughing.

Hopes it's just his mind, bent and tired.

He doesn't want to die while someone is laughing.

~*~

They start to feed him more food, better food.

It's probably not a good sign.

GQ eats anyway, fills himself up fast even though he knows that it's dumb.

Throws up until his throat and stomach are burning and his face is wet with tears.

Crawls away from the bucket and curls together on the floor, sore and exhausted.

Falls asleep, falls into nothingness, and he still hurts when he wakes up.

~*~

He thinks they kill him once.

~*~

GQ whispers his name into the dark, whispers the names of the men that went into Midway City with him. They are all dead now, of course, and he envies them for it.

He wonders if Rick made it.

Wonders if they saved the world or if the world outside is ruled by witches and gods, the streets and buildings crowded with their followers. Maybe it's better here.

Maybe it's better in hell.

~*~

His father used to tell him that before he fell in love with GQ's mother, he fell in love with the army.

His mother always agreed.

They never settled, not even with him. They traveled through countries and army towns, GQ always the new boy among new children, never knowing what it meant to simply stay somewhere, motionless like a stone.

Maybe that's why he took to swimming, to diving, maybe that's why the only place he can be still at is the bottom of the sea.

But there is nowhere to go now, nowhere to run.

And the ocean is very far away.

~*~

He wakes up to the quiet echo of gunshots, the noise familiar even through walls and hallways. GQ stares into the darkness, his eyes so used to it by now that he can see the outlines of the bucket in one corner, the plates of his last meal near the door, and the door itself.

He stops, blinks.

His breath stutters and his heart, his heart jumps painfully once, twice.

The door is open.

And there's a monster in his cell.

~*~

GQ dreams of being saved.

He dreams of the crocodile monster that belonged to Flag's freaks, that thing that went into the tunnels with him. It's with him in the cell, and it pulls him up, pulls him to his feet. He stumbles the moment it lets go, tumbles against it with a groan.

A grunt, deep and rough, an animal sound. It fills his ears and he wants to laugh because the monster sounds so damn unimpressed. But he chokes on the sound, on his dry throat, on the treacherous hope that he's awake, that this is real.

He pushes the idea away.

Still, he tries to stand, tries to limp to the door with this monster by his side. And he doesn't fight when it slings an arm around him, leans into it for support.

It would be nice to see the sky again. Even if it's just a dream.

So he lets the monster drag him through dimly lit tunnels and towards the sound of gunshots. And he tries to ignore the pain in his sides, tries to ignore the weakness that seems to grow stronger with every step, and he tries.... he tries.

At some point, his legs give in. He ends up on the ground, a shivering heap of pain. He doesn't argue, doesn't fight when the monster picks him up to carry him.

“You are the strangest Prince Charming ever,” he says because it really is, and he chuckles at the grunt he receives in reply.

He thinks he hears Rick's voice ahead of him, thinks he hears Deadshot's. Dreams of his CO's relieved face and the sound of a chopper, the feeling of flying, of leaving.

Sees pieces of blue sky over the pilot's shoulder.

Fades away slowly.

~*~

GQ blinks his eyes open.

Light is coming through a window to his left, still weak, a blue tint to it.

Dawn is coming.

And he is free.

~*~

"I'm sorry," Rick says. And, "We should have come sooner."

GQ shrugs. "You could have left me there."

Rick grimaces. "Almost did. I didn't think you were still alive." A pause, Rick looking away from him, his body rigid, a straight line.

He felt guilty, GQ realizes. GQ could tell him not to be. But he has spent the last few weeks in hell, and everything still hurts. So he doesn't say anything, just looks at Rick and waits.

"I should have started a search when we didn't find your body," Rick finally says.

"But you didn't."

"I didn't. We didn't find all that many bodies and I... I should have pressed this harder with Waller."

GQ laughs. "Waller isn't exactly the type of person you can push into doing things."

Rick smiles. It's brief, it's sharp, and it there isn't any kind of joy in it. "Yeah."

"So why did you search for me?" GQ asks.

Rick shrugs. "Jones got very determined."

"Who?" GQ asks.

"Croc," Rick says after a pause.

And GQ thinks of the monster in his cell, thinks of the monster that carried him to freedom. "Oh," he says.

"Yeah," Rick agrees.

~*~

GQ doesn't heal quickly or easily. He heals through bad days and worse nights, pain pills and bad hospital food.

Sometimes, Rick visits. It's always awkward, stunted conversations trying to fill the silence. It used to be different. Before Midway City, before Gods tried to kill them and monsters ran through the streets.

But now GQ keeps on thinking about that cell. The damp smell of it, the dying light bulb. The mattress.

He doesn't think of them killing him.

Rick wasn't the reason he got out of there.

And GQ can't quite forget that.

~*~

At night, after he slips into sleep, he's back in his cell, he's back in hell.

Freedom was just a dream.

No one is coming for him.

~*~

They send him a therapist.

GQ almost laughs straight into Rick's face when he tells him.

Instead, he nods.

He probably needs one.

~*~

He heals.

He's alive.

He focuses on that.

Rick visits and he looks lighter than he has for quite a while. It pisses GQ off.

“Did anyone survive?” he asks. He should have asked earlier. But he didn't, couldn't. Because he knows the answer.

Rick swallows, looks away, and some of the ease that seems to fill his body fades away. It's satisfying to watch.

“No,” Rick says.

They are silent then, and Rick doesn't say good-bye when he leaves.

GQ thinks of his team. Thinks of the rehab sessions still to come and the pain in his hands where the burns are the worst. Doesn't think of the life that is still to come.

~*~

They tell him that the scars on his hands will remain. It shouldn't bother him. But he thinks of Midway City when he looks at his palms, his fingers, and he thinks of the dark hole that came after.

The memories cling to his skin and they cling to him.

Somewhere, whatever remains of his men is rotting away.

Somewhere else, monster and men, surrounded by prison walls.

~*~

Four months after they got him out, GQ leaves the hospital.

His apartment greats him with silence, dust bunnies like tiny debris in the sunshine. It looks peaceful.

GQ closes his eyes.

He remembers how small the cell was, how the air felt heavy and damp. Opens his eyes and a window.

He is free.

Sometimes, he just needs a reminder.

~*~

Rick and his entourage go on missions.

GQ doesn't ask how they end.

But he thinks of the monsters going out with Rick, thinks about them fighting a very familiar fight. It used to be him out there. Will be again, he knows.

Every time Rick returns, he sends GQ a text message.

Tells him that they all came back.

GQ doesn't quite understand why, and he doesn't understand the relief that hits him with every message. But he doesn't ask Rick to stop.

~*~

Some of the cells in Belle Reve aren't any better than the hole those assholes kept him in. Dark, small rooms without windows, the doors always locked. The people inside forgotten by the outside world.

Before Midway City, that didn't bother him.

But to be honest, nothing much bothered him back then.

Now, he walks past the cells, and he thinks of the men inside. Criminals every single one of them. But he didn't go into Midway City with his boys alone. There was Rick, too, and Katana. And a group of thieves and murders, every single one more dangerous than he himself has ever been.

They saved the world.

One of them saved him.

The door of the cell next to him stands open, shedding light on the floor. There's a dark spot there, reds and browns. Against a wall, a narrow bed. A lone picture taped to the wall, black and white and faded.

GQ stops walking.

He is not anywhere near the right cell.

No matter, he will thank Jones another day.

~*~

He dreams of Midway City, he dreams of fire and water and pain. Dreams of a shadow in the water, the touch of its hands around his waist. Being pulled away from the explosion, the water boiling around them, far away from the fire, that thing so fucking fast. His lungs hurting, his mind almost bursting with the need to breathe. Then, suddenly, air. GQ coughing, trying to get as much of it into his lungs as he can. Solid ground beneath him. The shadow is above him, lines of a body, almost familiar in their hard curves.

GQ wakes.

Stares into the dim light of his bedroom, dawn making itself known.

He knows a monster got him out of his cell. But it saved him before.

He had forgotten that.

~*~

He starts training again, and he hates the weakness that has settled his arms and legs, the ache that runs through his body in the evening. It's alien, unfamiliar. GQ yearns for the practised strength that carried him through the years since he joined the military.

He swears to himself that he will get rid of it. He will be strong again, stronger than before.

Better.

So he trains.

And maybe it hurts, maybe it's harder than it was during boot camp but he's doing it anyway.

Next time, they won't get him so easily.

~*~

He finally makes it to Jones' cell.

It's the only one in the basement, the hallway leading to it smelling of decay and rot, the ground dipping in a curve like the soil beneath it gave away and sank down. Belle Reve at it's finest.

GQ hates it.

Still, it has its advantages. There is no one there but him, the guards are prowling in the hallways above, unwilling to go down where the monster lurks. The schedule probably tells them differently but it wouldn't be the first time a guard didn't follow the rules.

So GQ has it all for himself, the hallway and the dim lights and the stink. He walks through it slowly, carefully, and he wonders if Jones can hear him coming. Maybe, maybe not, and GQ realizes that he has no idea what Jones truly is other than a very strong crocodile man.

He stops in front of the cell. Holds himself still and peers into the darkness behind the bars. There's a hole with dark water there, a mattress crammed into a corner. A freaking high-tech TV. GQ stares at it, says, "What the fuck?" and steps closer to the bars.

Somewhere in the cell, a grunt.

GQ jerks away. Searches for Jones. Finally sees a shape in the water. "Jones?"

Another grunt and Jones slips out of the water, easy and fast, and GQ expected him to be slow, heavy. For some reason, being wrong about that feels good.

Jones steps towards the bars, eyes on GQ. Still silent.

"Hey," GQ says. Stops there. Waits. For what, he doesn't know.

Jones stares back at him.

GQ coughs, his throat dry, his pulse suddenly quickening. He wants to step closer to Jones. Doesn't know if he's wanted there.

“The name is Croc,” Jones finally says.

GQ swallows. Nods. He knew that. Still, he says, "Okay."

Jones stares at him, his eyes strange, alien. GQ can't look away.

"What do you want?" Jones says.

GQ shrugs. Doesn't tell Jones that he felt as if he had to come, that something pulled him here. Says, "Wanted to check on you," as if that would explain anything. Tries, "You saved me."

Jones cocks his head to a side.

Seconds go by. They feel like hours.

Finally, "Left you there."

GQ frowns.

"Before," Jones adds.

"After the bomb," GQ realizes.

"Yes."

For a quick second, there's hurt. Disappointment. But it fades. For some reason, it fades.

~*~

He dreams.

He's in the water, a bomb in his hand.

He doesn't know where to go,

He dives into the darkness.

There is no light filtering through the water anymore, there is no trace left of the world above. But there's movement

Because at his side, there's Jones.

~*~

GQ goes to the ocean.

It is vast, unknowable, and yet so very familiar. He knows the rhythm of the waves, the way they rise and sink, the cold wrapping itself around him.

He's home.

GQ thinks of Jones, thinks of that fetid pool of water in his cell. Remembers him in the water below Midway City, his body slipping through it with ease.

Wonders if he ever saw waves like this.

He probably didn't.

But he should.

~*~

His first mission after Midway City is a brief one, easy almost.

But his old team is dead, and even now, months later, they haven't recovered all the bodies. The soldiers at his side are unfamiliar, strangers, and it's been so long since he felt like that, since he didn't know the faces and voices of his team.

It's lonely.

GQ tells himself it will get better.

He's a soldier, after all. Midway City could take his team but not that. Soon he will fall into step with the soldiers around him, he will fall back into this familiar rhythm.

It's just gonna take a bit of time.

~*~

He visits Jones again.

Sinks down outside of his cell, back pressed against the bars. Thinks that Jones could probably kill him like this. Isn't worried.

“Who taught you to swim?” he asks,

There is no answer for a while. Then, “No one.”

“Huh.”GQ turns his head, his cheek against a bar now, the metal cool against his skin. On the edge of his vision, Jones.

“What do you want?” he asks GQ.

GQ thinks. Says, “To bask in your beautiful presence,” and it's a joke, soldier-like, and it's the truth, too. He feels better with Jones at his back.

He feels like he's free.

~*~

Another mission and he's underwater, he's diving, and it's quiet and his mind is clear. For a moment, he imagines staying deep down, below everything, away from the light.

For a moment, he can almost imagine being at peace, there in the dark.

But he has to come up, has to come up for the fight and the mission, and the deep and its secret sink away.

~*~

Croc is a stupid name, GQ thinks one morning, sleep still hanging on to him. It's a name that gives in, that accepts unhumanity. GQ doesn't like it.

~*~

Some nights, he dreams of nothing when he sleeps. Wakes up to a grey sky heavy with clouds. The clock on the wall ticks loudly.

He is still alive.

He is free.

He repeats it five times.

Tells himself to go back to sleep.

~*~

He brings Jones beef jerky.

Their hands touch when he pushes it through the bars, Jones' skin dry and warm beneath his.

Jones blinks slowly, his eyes on their hands.

GQ presses his finger against Jones wrist.

~*~

"Have you talked to him?" Waller asks, her face as indifferent as ever.

He doesn't have to ask to know that she means Rick.

GQ shrugs, replies, “Not recently.”

Waller doesn't react. Says, “You'll join his squad again.”

GQ breathes in. Thinks of having Rick by his side instead of a soldier he doesn't know, Jones instead of a man he doesn't trust.

Nods.

~*~

The Squad comes together at Belle Reve, it comes together in a careful dance. Rick gets Deadshot out of his cell, sends Katana to get Harkness, tells GQ to go with the guards walking to Jones's cell.

“They'll mess it up,” Rick says.

GQ says nothing, just follows the men. Steps back when they enter the cell and leans against a wall, limbs loose. Waits for the first screams, waits for them to stop. Greets Jones with a nod when he leaves his cell.

They walk to the others side by side, people jumping out of their way, a warning heading through the corridors.

It's been a while since GQ felt this powerful.

Rick only sighs when he sees them. Harkness sniggers.

GQ shrugs. “They were assholes.”

~*~

It's a mission of waiting, tightly clustered teams along an abandoned airfield, a desert eating at its edges. Dust and heat everywhere, the decaying buildings no help against the sun.

Behind him, Jones finishes his water bottle, a dissatisfied hiss following. GQ hands him his. Gives him a quick smile, shrugs at Rick's raised eyebrow. Doesn't look at the others and goes back to waiting.

Then, the comms come to life, a plane sighted, and the squad coming to life as well. Along the landing stripe, the other teams getting ready, careful movements invisible to the pilot, the plane flying into their trap.

Gunfire and running and orders, the teams a chaotic machine, stumbling and running and successful. The quiet after, GQ wiping dirt and sweat of his face, Harkness laughing about something, Katana at the edge of the group, her hand still resting on her sword, Rick and Deadshot, the quiet core.

Jones next to GQ.

GQ grins at him.

Gets a flash of teeth in return, annoyance, amusement, something wild. Something he could get used to.

He falls asleep on the chopper flight home.

~*~

“He's not a curiosity,” Rick says, his face serious. They are outside, the walls of Belle Reve grey next to them, the concrete ground beneath their feet chipping in places. It makes GQ's skin itch.

He looks at Rick. Nods. “I know.”

“Okay.” And Rick still looks serious, looks dangerous. “Good.”

~*~

He dreams of Jones in the dark water, the monsters that used to be his men swarming him with hungry hands, grabbing, pulling. He dreams of Jones, and there is blood in the water.

GQ wakes up with a scream.

Gets up, dresses. Drives to the compound, Belle Reve's military sister, his hands tight on the steering wheel. Throws himself into the pool and swims until the dream fades into a memory, still ugly and sharp but bearable now.

Drives to Belle Reve and walks the hallways until he's in front of the right cell. Sits down in front of it, leans back. Closes his eyes.

Sleeps.

He wakes up later with an aching neck, his body stiff. Jones on the other side of the bars, eyes sharp and watchful.

They sit together for a while.

It's nice.

~*~

Another mission and Rick is tense when he tells GQ, angry maybe. GQ doesn't ask, just nods, gearing up with practised hands. He'll find out soon enough.

Rick gets Deadshot, Katana gets Harkness.

This time, GQ is one his own when he gets Jones.

~*~

They fly into Gotham, the city lights bright through the chopper's windows. Rick with Katana and Deadshot bracketing him, his voice steady as he fills the squad in. "Waller wants us to kill both of them," he says.

Harkness grunts, angry.

"But we won't," Deadshot says, and there's no question there, just determination.

"Yeah," Rick agrees. "The Joker is the target."

At GQ's side, Jones is silent and reassuring.

Half an hour later, they land close to a group of abandoned factory buildings, the edges of the city grazing the yards and walls, the place stinking with decay. It reminds GQ of the cell. He swallows and focuses on the sky above him, on the squad around him. On Jones.

They make their way into the maze of buildings, tucked away office spaces and empty changing rooms. There is graffiti on the walls, odes to the Joker, commentary about last night's fling. Bullet shells on the ground, holes in some of the walls. In a corner, dark, brown spots.

Then, there is Batman.

Deadshot gets in a good punch before Rick pushes him back, squaring up, his eyes focused on Deadshot and nobody else.

The Bat is a hulking shadow behind them. “Waller's little menagerie,” he says, and GQ hears the contempt in these words.

Huffs. Says, “Takes one and blah blah blah.”

The Bat focuses on him then, steps closer than comfortable, and GQ's hand lands on his gun. Jones steps up behind him, so close that GQ can feel him. It should bother him, should add to his unease. But it doesn't. Hasn't since Jones carried him out of hell.

“We're all on the same side,” he hears Rick say and thinks that they're definitely not, that the Bat isn't on anyone's side. GQ wouldn't want him to be on theirs anyway. There's something wrong with that guy, something strange, and GQ doesn't like him.

“We are after Harley,” Rick says. “You had your try.”

A humorless laugh, Batman turning away from them, his cape moving in a dramatic flourish. GQ almost laughs.

“I'm not gonna come for your bodies,” Batman says, walking away from them.

“Like we would want his dirty paws on us anyway,” Harkness mumbles, before wagging his eyebrows at Katana. “Yours, though.”

Katana doesn't even react

~*~

They don't find the Joker.

But they find Harley.

She is lying on the ground, a deep cut running from the side of her forehead to her mouth, like somebody thought that cutting off her face was a nice idea and stopped with the job half-done. GQ thinks of her during Midway City, all amused commentary and a strong punch, and thinks she'll probably like the scar.

Deadshot picks her up, a swift motion, powerful, gentle.

There's a bomb where her body was just moments ago.

GQ isn't even surprised.

Maybe a part of him waited for this, forever stuck in that moment in the water with a bomb above him, water all around him. Maybe it was supposed to end this way. He almost laughs.

Time slows down for a bit, slows down to moments.

Harkness stepping away from the bomb with a quick, deep breath, his hand on one of his boomerangs as if it would be of any use. A bitten off curse from Deadshot. Rick's voice, controlled as ever as he talks to base, his hands fists, his knuckles white. Katana quiet, even at this moment. A growl from Jones.

A timer counting down, seconds instead of easy minutes.

GQ kneeling down next to the bomb, hands strangely steady. He has been here before. Knows what to do. Bombs are his thing. Not like water or diving, but he knows how to handle them and sometimes he handles them well.

He looks up quickly, nods at Rick. Trusts him to understand. Sees his frown. For a stupid moment, he thinks that Rick will do something dumb, say something dumb. I won't leave you behind again. But Rick doesn't. Instead, his hand lands on GQ's shoulder, a quick touch.

GQ hardly notices when Ricks herds the others away. Knows in some distanced way that the bomb is overkill, that the others need to run just in case he doesn't make it. Knows that he can buy them time, stop the countdown for a bit before it respawns. A trick here and some luck there.

He hears a familiar sound, looks up.

Jones is still there.

A quick burst of relief followed by fear, worry for somebody else. GQ shaking his head, breathing in quickly.

Jones once told him to go. And he did.

This time, it's his turn.

“Go,” he says. And, “I got this.”

But Jones doesn't move.

GQ almost argues. But there is no time, the timer steadily ticking down, and he focuses on the bomb, determination growing stronger, surer. He won't let Jones die here.

And he doesn't.

Steady hands and a steady mind and the counter going blank. Satisfaction and relief, warm and easy. Looking up at Jones with a smile on his face

Gunshots, not far away, a staccato promise of death.

GQ runs towards them, gun ready and Jones by his side. The moment opening up, Rick kneeling behind a wall, firing into the next room, Deadshot at the other side of the doorway. Harley crumbled against the wall next to Rick, Katana standing over her. Rick seeing GQ, a quick nod. Calling out orders. The squad falling back, retracing the steps that led them there. Jones carrying Harley. Running again, Rick shouting into the comms. Chaos and noise and then there is the chopper, there's evac, and they are out of there, gunshots still following them, angry hornets, the chopper shuddering, weaving through the air.

Then, they break free, enough distance crossed, the noise of flight turning into the noise of flying, loud but steady.

“Holy shit,” Harkness says. “What a fucking shit-show.”

GQ nods, looks at Rick. Sees him shrug. “Got half of what we came for.”

And that's that.

~*~

He walks Jones back to his cell, follows him into it. Sits down on Jones' bed, doesn't say anything when Jones settles down next to him and turns on the TV.

There is a football game on, bodies falling over one another, violence in little pieces. They settle in, still silent with each other, the kind of silence that feels warm and steady.

GQ looks at Jones.

Feels 'maybe' and doesn't quite understand it. Only knows, that having Jones by his side feels like ... like possibility and safety.

Maybe he is just curious.

Maybe Midway City and everything after just broke him.

He doesn't care.

Doesn't think about how this would go, could go. Thinks he could just let it happen. No plans, no thoughts running in circles until they run themselves to death. It would be a change. And he needs one.

He gets up after the game has ended, stretches. Feels Jones' eyes on him. Turns to him. Says, "Thank you," and presses his palm against Jones' side, quick, shy.

Jones shrugs. Says, "Yeah."

"See you tomorrow, Jones," GQ says.

For a few seconds, Jones' lips bent into a smile.

“Name is still Croc,” he answers.

GQ shrugs. Isn't sure he will ever use the name. Walks out of the cell and thinks of the next mission, of Jones walking out of there with him.

Soon, he thinks. Soon.

~*~

At night, he dreams of diving into the deep. Jones is with him. The ocean is wild and open around them, greeting them with every wave.

And they are free.


End file.
